He gave the bathroom a quick once-over. It contained a tub/shower combo. When people are attacked there, they often grab the shower curtain for support, yanking it off or tearing it. The shower curtain hung neatly and was intact.
The bath mat was neatly folded over the side of the tub and it, too, was devoid of blood. He took off the stopper from the sink’s drain and stuck a gloved finger down the pipe. There was some hair, but not very much. And the hair was loose bits—no roots. He peered underneath the sink. Eventually, he closed the cabinet door a disappointed man.
He moved on to the hallway linen closet. It had vented doors and six shelves. The linens were neatly stacked and organized: the bath towels with the bath towels, the hand towels with the hand towels, the washcloths with the washcloths. Some of the towels were mismatched in color and style and age, but everything was tidy. There were two extra pillows sitting next to a folded stack of pillowcases. There was also a pile of fitted sheets in beiges, yellows, ivories, and white—whatever worked, he supposed. Then his eye moved over to a pile of top sheets. The stack wasn’t as precise and one of the sheets had actually fallen to the floor.
As if someone had quickly grabbed from the pile, causing the sheet directly underneath it to tumble to the ground. Snatching the linen in a panic because he needed to wrap up a body. It was far easier to drag a wrapped package than a loose corpse with floppy limbs.
Suppose . . . just suppose Katrina Belfort had been injured in an altercation with the killer? Maybe she was pushed and hurt her head, not enough to kill her but enough to knock her out. Then suppose the killer thought she was dead. He panicked, dragged her into the woods, and then he tried to obliterate the injury with a gunshot to throw detectives off track?
Okay, if that’s the theory, Decker thought about how she could have hit the back of her head hard enough to knock her out. Maybe she was shoved into a wall or tripped and fell backward. Sometimes those injuries leave a lot of spatter, but sometimes they don’t. Those types of injuries weren’t usually lethal—not right away at least. Maybe it was even an accident. Maybe it wasn’t. It really didn’t matter. The outcome would have been the same. The killer thought she was dead and panicked. Rather than call the police, he chose to get rid of the body himself, figuring her absence would give him time to escape and create a story. So he wrapped her in a sheet, dragged her into the woods, and shot her in the location of where she hit her head. Then he walked back to the house, covering his tracks in the snow while he went along. Maybe he even called up a trusted friend for help . . . which would make Decker’s life easier. The more people involved, the faster these things get solved.
Okay, so assuming that Katrina fell backward, she had to have hit her cranium on something hard like a floor or a wall, or a piece of furniture like a sharp edge from a table. The floors and tiles were devoid of any dents or dings, so he moved on to the walls: a banged head might have left a ding or a crater, but the plaster looked intact.
The last thing to do was scrutinize the corners and ledges of the furniture. Decker started with the granite kitchen countertops, moved on to the bookcase and the sofa table, then the end tables. It always paid to be patient. Sometimes it was the last item checked—in his case a square end table with a marble top inserted into a brass frame. With the naked eye, the corners looked clean, but luminol told a different story. The back left corner had been tucked under the sofa’s upholstered arm. When he sprayed the table, it lit up like holiday Hanukkah lights.
Murder Gadol Haya Sham.
There was also a tiny amount of hair trapped between the brass frame and the marble inset. Decker took out a pair of tweezers and pulled it from the space. Some of the hair still had root and skin attached, which made it perfect for DNA testing. He placed it in an evidence bag.
He dropped to a squat and smelled the floor right in front of the end table.
Dishwashing liquid.
He sprayed the area.
It was speckled with blue—a leaking wound rather than arterial spray.
The house needed to be gone over by the pros millimeter by millimeter. In clean crime scenes—any crime scene, for that matter—there was no such thing as being too meticulous.
BACK AT THE station house, Decker regarded McAdams typing away on Katrina Belfort’s computer. “How’s it going?”
McAdams looked up. “I got into her research files but they’re meaningless to me. I did print them out so we could take them up to Dr. Gold.”
“What about her e-mail?”
“Not so lucky.”
“We’ll get a court order. I’m convinced she was murdered. Her death may have been accidental, but the shooting was not.” Decker filled him in. “Someone not only cleaned the floor and an end table, he or she turned it around to hide the corner where Katrina most likely hit her head. Forensics is up there now doing their thing. I also had them dust Katrina’s keyboard and mouse for prints.”
“What’d they find?”
“Nothing. It was wiped clean. Now, Katrina was a neat freak, but it’s still odd to write a suicide note and then wipe down the keyboard.” Decker popped a piece of gum in his mouth. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Rina made dinner. Let’s go home and we can talk about it there.”
“What do I do with her computer?”
“We’ll lock it up. Take her research with you. I’d sure like a better idea of what she was working on.”
“You think it was academics that got her killed?”
“Can’t say. But the more we know about her the better.”
“What about her cadre of admirers? Specifically her young male admirers. One of them might have been hoping for more. You know how impulsive college kids can be.”
“I spoke to her brother.”
“So Ryan is the brother?”
“Yes. When Katrina lived in Maryland, her lover had been a married man.”
“So she made poor choices before, maybe she made even worse choices this time. Who do we ask about that kind of thing? I mean it could be a fellow faculty member, but it also could be a student.”
“Except students don’t own cars. I keep thinking about that occasional late-night sedan parked in front of her house.”
“Then let’s eliminate the students and go on to the faculty.”
Decker said, “Good idea. Let’s start with Damodar Batra and Mallon Euler. They’re rooming together. We’ll tackle them after dinner. By the way, did you ever connect with Dean Zhou?”
“She’s been out of town for the past two days.”
“Where?”
“Her office wouldn’t tell me.”
“Find out where she was and verify it. If she was truly out of town, then she’s out of the running as a suspect in Katrina’s death.”
“Why do you suspect her?”
“Just because she’s in the department and seemed keen on looking at Eli’s papers. What about Lennaeus Tolvard? Did you connect with him?”
“We keep missing each other. Want me to try again?”
“Yes, I do. He and Eli were doing something hush-hush. I want to know what it was.” Decker checked his watch. It was almost seven. “Let’s eat first.”
“Fine.” McAdams stood up and hoisted the computer to bring it to the evidence cage.
“We need to reinterview everyone. While we’re concentrating on the college, I’ll have Kevin and Karen talk to the neighbors again. Then you and I will go up to Boston and show Eli’s papers to Dr. Gold. See what the fuck he has to say.”
“You’re swearing. You must be tired.”
“I’m beat.” Decker rubbed his eyes. “Let’s go home and get some grub. Man does not detect on bread alone.”
THE CONVERSATION, WHICH centered on Katrina’s murder, continued all through dinner and lasted over tea and coffee. Dressed in sweats, Rina listened as the boys talked. It was toasty inside the house. So much so that she turned down the heat because the boys were complaining.
S
he waited until there was a lull in the discussion. Then she said, “If you’re going to interview the college kids again, how about if I come with you?”
Decker regarded his wife over the rim of his coffee mug. “Why may I ask?”
“How many times have you talked to Mallon? If she’s being manipulative—and I’m not saying she is—but if she is, she’s got your number down by now. Another person in the room alters her script.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” McAdams said.
“And you know that I was a math major in college . . . although I never made it past linear algebra.” Rina looked at McAdams. “I quit college and moved to Israel when I was nineteen. It went over very big with my parents.”
The kid grinned. “I knew there was a rebel somewhere.”
“Obviously I liked the traditional life it led to because here I am.” She turned back to her husband. “How about it?”
“About what?”
“Let me come with you to talk to the students.”
Decker put down his mug. “How well do you remember your math, darlin’?”
“I haven’t done a complex calculation in over three decades. But I overheard you talking about Fourier transforms and eigenvectors and eigenvalues and I looked up the concepts. The computer is a wonderful thing sometimes. They have all these mini-lectures, and after a fashion, you get a smattering of what’s going on. You’ve just got to familiarize yourself with the terminology.”
“How big is a smattering?” McAdams asked.
“This is what I took away from listening to the lectures. Eigenvectors are represented by matrices and can be used as an alternative coordinate system, and Fourier analysis is a way of breaking down complex waves into simple trigonometric functions. Who is studying what?”
Decker was searching through his notes. “We had Eli studying eigenvalues . . . what is the difference between an eigenvalue and an eigenvector?”
“A value is a scalar—a number. A vector is a line moving in a direction. An eigenvector is a specialized vector that is a multiple of itself. The scalar or number that multiplies the eigenvector is called an eigenvalue. Are you with me?”
“What do you mean an alternative coordinate system?” Tyler asked.
“Usually when you represent a point in space, you think of it as something on an x-, y-, or z-axis, right?”
“If you say so,” Decker answered.
Rina continued on. “Eigenvectors are another way to locate points. And from what I’ve been overhearing, Eli was studying eigenvectors and eigenvalues and Fourier analysis.”
Decker said, “It might have been Fourier transforms.”
“I’m betting all the Fourier thingies are related,” McAdams said.
Rina said, “And I believe you said it was also Katrina Belfort’s area of expertise: fast Fourier transforms. It was probably the reason why Eli had wanted to switch advisers from Rosser to Belfort.”
“You were really listening to us,” McAdams said.
“I have great powers of concentration when I want to. What is Rosser’s area of expertise?”
“No idea, but it doesn’t matter,” McAdams said. “He’d want the brilliant student no matter what he was studying.”
“Makes sense.” Decker turned to Rina. “You’re about to make a pronouncement.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You have the look.”
Rina said, “I’m trying to find an academic connection between the fields of study—eigenvectors and Fourier analysis and Dr. Tolvard and cosmology. One intersection might be charting complex waves in space.”
McAdams crossed his arms and regarded Rina. “I like that.”
“I’m a nerd. Only nerds rebel by becoming super religious.”
“Well, you’re the prettiest nerd on the planet,” Decker said.
“Aw . . .” Rina leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You are the handsomest man on the planet.”
“Well, that’s not true.”
“It is to me.”
“Ahem . . .” McAdams interrupted. “What Rina said about the intersection of the two fields: it may be why Eli moved from math to physics.”
Decker shrugged. “That may be. But Elijah Wolf has been ruled a suicide. Katrina is probably a homicide. I’m more interested in her right now.”
“And you don’t think the two cases are related?” McAdams said.
“Not a clue.” Decker checked his watch. “We should go.”
Rina said, “And me?”
“You should come,” McAdams said.
“I believe that’s my decision to make,” Decker said. McAdams and Rina turned their eyes on his face. “You can come.”
“Only if you say please.”
“Don’t push it.”
“I’m not doing anything tomorrow, either. I could also come with you to visit Dr. Gold.”
“Are you getting a little bored, darlin’?”
“Just a tad housebound. It’s been snowing a lot and I need motivation to get out of my reading chair.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” McAdams said. “Gold likes her better than either of us.”
“Everyone likes her better than us.” Decker shrugged. “Sure, come with us, Rina. I love your company and you always pack a great lunch.”
“I’ll listen in and tell you what I think,” Rina said.
Decker said, “Yeah, I suppose we can always use a fly on the wall.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of an irritating gnat that simply won’t go away.”
CHAPTER 20
THE QUICKEST WAY to get students in your corner was an offer of free food and drink. Once again, Mallon chose Rajah’s, the Indian café with lots of vegan options. She was hiding behind a menu when Decker, McAdams, and Rina showed up. A brief nod from her and the trio sat down and were given menus. Damodar Batra came in a few minutes later, wearing a parka, jeans, and boots. He hung up his coat on a rack, took in a deep whiff, and let it out slowly.
“Feels like home.” He pulled up a chair on the outside of a booth meant for four people.
“Where have you been?” Mallon’s face was still obscured by endless lists of entrées. She sounded peeved.
“I had an interview with Newberg.”
“Newberg?” Mallon set down the menu and gave him the death stare. “How’d you arrange that?”
“I begged. He gave me twenty minutes.”
“Is he taking you on?”
“Probably not. What about you? Any luck?”
“No. I may have to look outside the department.” She folded her hands. “Rosser’s not helping me. He hates me.”
“He hates everyone.”
“Not Eli.”
“No, Eli was about the only one he liked. Then Wolf had the nerve to rock the boat and all was not well.” Batra shook his head and looked at Decker. “We’re scrambling to find new advisers and it’s hard because the department is so small. It’s our senior year, for God’s sake. I was just about done with my thesis. This has been a nightmare.”
“I guess it would be a nightmare for Katrina Belfort except she’s dead,” McAdams said.
“Yeah, well . . .” Batra looked sheepish. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Who is Newberg?” Decker asked.
“Faculty,” Batra said. “Also new, but he’s jammed up apparently. Asshole.”
Decker said, “There are ladies present.”
Batra bit his lip. “Sorry.” He looked at Rina. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
Rina smiled. “Rina Decker. No blood relationship.”
“That’s a big coincid—oh . . .” He hit his forehead. “You’re Detective Decker’s wife?”
“I am. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Same.”
“Can we order?” Mallon had gone beyond peeved to full-out grumpy. “I’ve got a shitload of work waiting for me.”
Decker signaled the waiter. The two kids both ordered dinner specials. McAdams ordered a chai
tea and two regular teas for Decker and Rina since all three had eaten.
Mallon kept folding and unfolding her hands. “Well, the feeling is mutual.”
Decker said, “Pardon?”
“Rosser. I hate Rosser as much as he hates me. What a pompous little prig!”
Batra said, “More like a twit.”
“How’d he get along with Dr. Belfort?” McAdams asked.
Mallon shrugged. “I never heard her go off on him, but she did think he was a misogynist. It’s like kinda obvious.”
Batra said, “Why are you asking about Rosser?”
“Katrina’s dead. I’m talking to a lot of people.”
“He’s a jerk,” Mallon said, “but I don’t think it was his fault that she killed herself.”
Decker said, “So you think Dr. Belfort committed suicide?”
“That’s what everyone is saying.” Batra paused. “Do you have other ideas?”
“Was she depressed?” Decker asked.
“I didn’t think so, but I didn’t know her well.”
“You knew her well enough to call her by her first name.”
“We all did,” Mallon said. “She wasn’t that much older than us and it was her idea.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Batra said. “Our relationship was strictly professional.”
“Professional but you’ve been to her house.”
Batra tensed. “So have Mallon and Ari and Eli and a bunch of other students. She had an open-door policy on weekends. She liked being available to her students. All you had to do was call before you came. What of it?”
“What of what?”
“Stop obfuscating. There was nothing going on between her and me or any of her students that didn’t have to do with math. She wasn’t like that.”
“No need to get defensive, Batra,” McAdams said. “We have to ask.”
“And you got your answer. Anything else?”
The Theory of Death Page 17
